


tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us

by thiswholeflight



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Brothers, Call Down the Hawk Spoilers, Fairytale Vibes, Family Feels, Gen, Keep reading for more sadness, Lynch Family (Raven Cycle)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:27:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22722421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thiswholeflight/pseuds/thiswholeflight
Summary: Once upon a time, there lived a dreamer, his creation, and two children he made.This story is no different than the ones you’ve heard before.
Relationships: Aurora Lynch/Niall Lynch, Declan Lynch & Ronan Lynch, Lynch Brothers - Relationship, Lynch Family - Relationship
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [neontetraskill (atomiceyes)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/atomiceyes/gifts).



> While there's no violence or character death in the intro, I assume there will be when I add more to this. There will be CDTH spoilers. Maybe some Pynch later on? I hope you all enjoy this. Thank you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dream is a wish your heart makes.

Once upon a time, there lived a dreamer, his creation, and two children he made.

The first child was dull, uninspired, a flight of fancy that resulted in exhausting responsibility, but he was also vital. A lesson in humility. Always make a rough draft before the final masterpiece.

In spite of the lackluster child he fashioned first, Niall Lynch cooked a second child. This time, the circumstances were right. A dream _is_ a wish your heart makes. The second was an equally charmed being in his own likeness. It is said that Gods are narcissistic, prone to fantastical thinking. This is true of dreamers too. Ronan was born magical, fitful, and undoubtedly Niall’s.

His magnum opus.

Just as spiders know how to weave webs from birth, dreamers have an unparalleled aptitude for fantasy. It could be said that Niall’s only crime was profiting off his talent, but those who say it know nothing of his nightmares.

After all, what else are nightmares but lies we tell ourselves while we dream? 

Despite this mastery – a child, two if you counted Declan – Lynch was a restive beast, a Sagittarius playing God. Niall did not care for the rules he had always been told existed; so, he made new ones. Homelife was a conjured mecca of things that were intended to be both warm and wicked because things could not all be good if they were meant to exist.

In a large barn, with rust-coloured paint peeling from rainwear, Niall stored a variety of sensical nonsense. In it, he stored visions of dark disquieting things and malicious machinery, each one beautifully crafted to deceive. There were seashell necklaces that smelt like the beaches in Kerry and perfume the confused the senses into feeling loved until it faded. In a rich oak chest lay a crown that, when touched, made you crave butterscotch and arsenic. Off in a tangle of richly coloured silk thread and cloudy quartz that made one relive their worst childhood memories was a watch that could stop your heart if you didn’t wind it every day.

His most treasured dream was not the thing named Aurora, but she was his most useful dream – a hard-pressed position to take in the thousands of things he had already created. She was especially valuable when it came to the children. Aurora Lynch was a tender creature, stitched together with good intention and whimsy. Her laugh was the taste of butter on toast, warm, melting, and satisfying. Best of all, she was loving. Everyone was her favourite and she was everyone’s favourite. A golden-haired delight whose sole purpose was to care. Aurora did not have to try to be anything. She just was. When the boys were very young, Aurora would read Declan and Ronan fantastical tales.

At night – the nights when Niall was off trading dreams for secrets – the three of them would climb into bed the largest bed in the Barns and curl up under rabbit-soft blankets together. Aurora would bring out a book that she stored in her bedroom closet on the highest shelf instead of where the regular books were. Her chosen book to read from was a large leather-bound book with a gilded debossed title that looked impossibly more art than word.

Her youngest, Ronan, would bunch at her side and curl against her stomach, rising and falling with every unnecessary breath she took. Declan would back against the opposite bedpost with sleep silt eyes, sceptical of secrets the book told.

The stories inside the book appeared like magic, changing each time. A new one wondrous tale for every night. Aurora delighted in reading to them night after night, if only to remind her sons that chromatically scaled dragons did exist and, subsequently, to teach them that monsters could be defeated. 

Aurora did not lie, but this was a lie. Aurora was not cruel, but this was an act of cruelty. This was the worst lie. The worst cruelty. In the climax of the stories, Ronan would lie in bed beside her with shaggy hair and a whimper in the back of his throat. Declan would climb over her knees to look inside the tome with a widening gaze, unflinching, trying to determine how the hero will ever recover.

“Happily ever after,” she’d say, and Declan would sigh in relief, Ronan could sleep soundly. The Barns was at rest. The boys were content.

As with all fables, these are the things that happen: the father dies, the mother goes to sleep, and the siblings cut off a heel or a toe in exchange for a perfect fit in a golden slipper. They tell themselves: This is what happy feels like. 

This story is no different than the ones you’ve heard before. 

I’m sorry if you’ve already learned this lesson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Richard Siken's poem "Scheherazade" found in his book Crush.


End file.
